Remember
by quitesirius
Summary: All those times I imagined my future, she says, frightened, you were there beside me.... I don't know what to say, Hermione. I always thought I'd be there, too.... Rating is for mention of adult scenarios and heavy subject matter.


A/N: So. This made me cry while I wrote it, so be prepared for that. I'm proud of this piece, which ran much longer than I thought it would, but the words just kept coming. And I know that Hermione didn't have snow in her hair at the Yule Ball, but let's pretend, mmkay? Reviews make me happy. P.S. An update of "The Trouble With Being A Twin" is coming soon, but this was urgent in my mind, and needed to be written.

Enjoy.

* * *

This is goodbye, and they both know it.

She cries a little and he tries to be brave. He has to be, because he must do all the talking before he can't anymore. She throws her arms around his neck and pulls him as close as she can, and for once he doesn't blush or pull away. He swallows and puts his arms around her too, resting his chin on top of her head.

He tries to be a true Gryffindor, but the tears still fall. They make her hair damp but she doesn't care.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I tried to dodge it, but…" he chokes back an oncoming sob when she lets out a strangled cry.

"I know-- I know you did. I should have—I should have—"She tries to find words in between gasps for air.

He starts to rock her gently back and forth, remembering his mother doing the same for him whenever he cried. He suddenly wishes for some of her homemade brownies. Those had always made his tears vanish, along with the rocking and her sweet mumbles that things would be better. He can't tell Hermione that things would get better.

Because he won't get better. This will be a slow downward spiral.

A part of him wants nothing more than to hunt down Malfoy and curse him into oblivion for what he has done… what he has taken from Ron. Because of Malfoy, he has to say goodbye to his family, and Harry, and Hermione.

Soon he won't know who they are anymore.

He had immediately read up on the curse Malfoy had used when the nurses at St. Mungo's couldn't reverse it. The name of the curse was already escaping him, but he remembered its effects well: a slow deterioration of the memory and mental capacity. He will forget them all one by one—mum, dad, Percy, Fred, George, Harry, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, Seamus, Lavender, Neville, Remus, Tonks… Hermione.

And he will never be able to relearn their names, their eccentricities, the memories they shared, or anything else. He will forget his mother's rocking, her brownies, his dad's electric plugs, Fred and George's jokes, nights by the fireplace in Gryffindor tower, Percy's boring cauldron reports, Charlie's burns, Tonk's hair color, Seamus' accent, Harry's smile, Ginny's awful singing in the shower, the smell of Hermione's hair… it will all vanish from his grasp in a matter of weeks—months if he is lucky.

"There's nothing you could have done," Ron mutters into her curly hair. "Nothing you can do. Please don't cry for me."

This makes her sob harder. "I can't help it, Ron."

And they both know why.

He knows this is his last chance, while he still remembers fights over rats, awkward apologies, angry canaries, kisses on the cheek, jealousy, the twinkle in her eyes when she answers a question correctly, her admonishments over poorly done homework, how she looked in her blue dress at the Yule Ball with snow in her hair, her shy smile when she told him she liked the perfume, how she was there at his bedside when he was poisoned, her frightened questions as she helped him to his feet after the curse hit him square in the chest…

"I love you, Hermione."

The words are slippery, tumbling out of his mouth much easier than he ever expected. She cries furiously now, and he allows himself to break down alongside her. They hold each other and weep until they can't breathe anymore.

"I l-love you t-too, Ron," she whispers. "I always have."

He wishes with everything he is that he could go back and say it sooner. Louder. Taken her on a date. Given her flowers. Kissed her on Valentine's Day. Danced with her when there was no music. Carried her books for her. Written a badly composed poem.

Dodged the curse.

Asked her to marry him.

Shared a rickety house and had more red-headed, brainy children than they could have afforded.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispers again. And he is.

She pulls away a bit, but his arms are still around her. She looks at him, absolutely, heartwrenchingly beautiful despite her puffy red eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and uncombed hair. She gazes at him as if he is her entire world right now, and he wonders if he is, because she certainly is his at this moment.

She says nothing. Instead, she kisses him.

Her lips are salty and wet, and her breath tastes like peppermint. He does not move away; he moves closer. He loves her more than anything else he can imagine and wants to stay right here forever. They pull away, only slightly, simultaneously. They share several quick pecks before they lean their foreheads together and stare into each other's melancholy eyes.

Yes, he thinks, he definitely should have kissed her sooner.

"Don't leave me," she whispers, barely audible. A single tear drifts down her face and her eyes aren't focused anymore.

He shakes his head a bit. "I don't want to." His voice is raspy now. "I don't want to."

"We never… we never got to do anything. Not really."

He knows what she means, and Ron swallows down some more tears. Despite her outward manner, he had always thought, during long nights spent thinking of her, that she wanted a white-picket fence and several loud children. She had loved his family so much that they may as well have been her own, and they practically were. She was an only child, but when she sat in a room full of Weasleys, he had noticed long ago, her smile was never larger or brighter.

And he thought that she had wanted the hand-holding, and walks along the shores of the Great Lake in the middle of the night, when they should have been in bed. And he would have gladly given her everything she had ever wanted, however stupidly romantic it was, if he had known that someday they would be sitting here, like this, clinging to each other as if that could keep him there.

"I know." He sighs so heavily that he thinks he may have accidentally exhaled his soul. "I know."

"I love you," she says again. "I always will."

His eyes brim up again and he wishes they wouldn't. He has so many things to say and he doesn't want her to see him cry. It isn't for some stupid manly reason now… he knows it will make her hurt even more. He hates to cause her pain.

He cannot promise her that he will always love her. He cannot promise he will even remember why she comes to visit him, because he knows that she will. He cannot promise he will even remember her name no matter how many times she tells him.

"I know," he says again. He wants to say something else, but he can't think of anything. "I love you… I love you…" And despite his best intentions, the tears fall. "I would have married you, ya know."

Her eyes lock on his again, and they have never been so full of saltiness. "I know. We—we always fought… but… I always knew… someday we would… would… I'd be a Weasley."

"Living in a shack and wondering how you would get the kids to stop listening to Fred and George's marvelous ideas," he chuckled a bit. It hurt to chuckle now.

She smiled for a second, but it vanished as quickly as it came. "But I would have been happy. Your mum would have taught me to knit and I'd have made sweaters… maybe socks, too. And… and… they would have all had red hair, I hope. Tall and gangly with brown eyes just so I could remember that they were mine, too."

"That would have been easy, Hermione… they would have had your brains."

"And they would have loved the Chudley Cannons, because their daddy wouldn't have settled for anything less."

It did not feel strange, sitting here at the age of seventeen, talking about what might have been with the girl he had loved since he was thirteen. Maybe twelve. He wasn't sure. It was not strange to tell her these things, not uncomfortable to think she would have been the next Mrs. Weasley. He supposes the war has done that to him.

"No," he chokes, "I wouldn't have."

"Don't leave me," she says again desperately. "I want… I want all those things. With you. Forever. Please," she says urgently, as if pleading with him like this will somehow change the way things will be.

"I wish I could," he replies, closing his eyes and allowing the tears to slide out from beneath his lids. "More than anything, Hermione, I wish I could. But… but we know I can't."

She shrinks a bit. He can feel it. "But… but what am I supposed to do?"

This question hurts more than he understands.

"I… I had it all- all planned out," she whispers. "After… after the war… we were going to fall in love because your thick head would finally be clear, and… we were going to get married and live in a house just like the Burrow, with a whole lot of red-headed children… walk hand in hand down Diagon Alley when it was time to buy their school things, arguing with each other about something silly… the kids would roll their eyes and want to go visit Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny when we stopped arguing because we'd look at each other like the other was the only thing that existed…"

The mental picture takes its toll on her and she breaks down again.

"And we would have stopped at Fred and George's shop, just to say hello, and we'd spend the next week trying to get the kids to stop feeding each other Fainting Fancies…"

He grins a bit. He almost forgets that soon he won't remember.

"So what will I do, Ron?" Her voice is shaky and not at all Hermione-like. "When... when… you leave?"

He has no more tears left in him. He cannot think of something witty. He cannot think of something rude. He cannot think.

"All those times I imagined my future," she says, somewhat utterly frightened, "you were there beside me. And—and now—"

She pulls him closer, which he hadn't thought possible or he would have pulled her closer before. She is looking at him so intently, taking in everything about him, and he knows well enough to let her look. He does the same.

It will do him no good soon enough, but he does it all the same.

Maybe that way he can hold on a bit longer.

He doesn't know what to tell her. "I—" he begins, hoping something will follow, but nothing comes.

He listens to her breathe. When he doesn't finish what he began, it quickens. He knows she is thinking he is already forgetting and he wants to alleviate her fears.

"I don't know what to say, Hermione. I always thought I'd be there, too."

* * *

They continue into the night, whispering to each other and holding on as tightly as they can. The other Weasleys and Harry take turns looking in through the small window in the hospital room door, and they all wish they could do something more than cry.

Harry puts his fist through the wall, because this is his fault, and Molly takes him to see a Healer down the corridor. Arthur wants to say something important and consoling to his family, but there is nothing to say. They all know what will happen to the youngest son.

Ginny sobs uncontrollably into Fred's shoulder, and for once, he has no funny remark. He stares at the wall, tears silently dripping down his cheeks as he tries to control his breathing. George sits on his other side, his elbows on his knees as he stares at the linoleum with unfocused, water-filled eyes. He shakes a bit and does not trust himself to get up and look in the tiny window again.

Percy feels awful. Horrible. He wants to turn back the clock and tell his father he's sorry, he shouldn't have said those things, he still wants to be a Weasley. He wishes he hadn't been Weatherby. He finally understands what family is, and he curses himself that it has to be under these circumstances.

Bill holds on to Fleur so tightly that she might pop, but he doesn't care. He considers his luck, and says nothing. His eyes fall on her swollen abdomen and he silently hopes for a red-headed boy he will name Ron. He knows that Fleur will not argue, and he silently thanks her, because someday he will tell his son why he is named Ron, and why they go to the hospital each week to see a man who doesn't know who they are or why they are there.

Charlie has moved back home. He has forgotten all of his things back in Romania, but they can be replaced. Dragons are not important. The people around him are everything, he knows, and he doesn't want the miles between them anymore. He wants to wake up each morning in his old bed, and trip going down the stairs, and have a steaming goblet of pumpkin juice before the sun even thinks about coming up. Because those were the times he always bumped into his littlest brother, who was on the search for a midnight snack to fuel his latest growth spurt.

Ginny wishes Fred would say something. He always knows what to say. How to make her fears vanish and her smile return. She wishes George wouldn't shake, but she also wishes he would move. She wishes that Ron didn't have to go. She wishes that if he must go, he would go completely. She would rather visit a gravestone than a brother who doesn't know he is a brother.

She wishes that George had stayed shaking, because the sound of him vomiting brings her back to reality.

She wishes that she would stop wishing.

* * *

Harry is angry. No, furious. No… he cannot think of a word.

He wants to kill Malfoy.

He wants to kill Ron. To put them all out of their misery. He doesn't want Ron to forget. He doesn't want to watch the slow decay. To watch the Weasleys deteriorate. To watch Hermione disappear into herself and never come out. He does not want to lose anyone else.

He rethinks his determination. He cannot kill Ron. He will do no more killing. He does not want to do any more losing, either, but he must. He will hold Ginny and they will cry together until they cannot breathe anymore. He will hurt alongside the others, he thinks as his wrist returns to normal.

He does not listen to the Healer. He stares at the back wall of the room. He cannot bear to look at Mrs. Weasley.

He cannot bear to look at any of them.

* * *

Hermione kisses him again, and Ron returns the favor.

It is three in the morning and now they are leaning back against Ron's pillow on this stupid hospital bed. But the scene does not matter, despite how harsh the whiteness of the room is on their eyes and mentality, because they are here together.

He does not want to fall asleep. He does not want to dream of what would have been, or might have been, or whatever. He does not want to wake up and forget Charlie's freckles. He does not want to wake up and not remember his mother's knobbily knit sweater with clashing colors.

He does not want to wake up and wonder why Hermione is beside him.

She is laying over one of his arms and he clutches her hand with his free one. He cannot think of what he wants to do more: run his fingers through her hair, stroke her cheek, hold her hand, or just hold her. He breathes in her scent… old books, peppermint, the perfume he gave her for Christmas…

She is staring at his chest. He is still wearing the clothes he did when he was cursed, and he wants to change them badly.

"Ron?" she asks.

He almost doesn't hear her. He is too busy thinking.

"Ron?" she asks urgently, eyes snapping up to his face and her head tilting to get a better look. She thinks that he is starting to fade. She shakes him until he turns his attention to her.

"Yeah?"

"Don't do that," she admonishes.

"Sorry," he mutters. He means it.

"Can I ask you something?"

He blinks and the corner of his lip turns up ever so slightly. "Of course… always."

She straightens up and he does the same. He needs to be as close as he can without hurting her. He moves his arm and takes both of her hands in his, clutching them to his chest over his heart.

She feels his heart beating and knows he is still there.

"Could we… could we get… get married anyway?"

He thinks he has heard her wrong. "What?"

She shakes her head, thinking herself a fool. It was a stupid, horrible, little girl question. This was much more important than a dream she has carried for years. It is pointless and altogether idiotic.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." She shakes her head again. Her messy, tangled hair moves a bit and Ron knits his brows.

"Don't be sorry. I just… I wasn't sure I'd heard you right."

Her eyes flicker with something vaguely resembling happiness. It is gone. "No, it's a silly idea, Ron."

He shifts a bit and looks down at their interlaced fingers. He has never been so thoughtful in his life. "I don't think it is."

She is angry at herself for bringing it up. "Yes, it is. You- you won't know who I am or why you're wearing a ring."

He tilts his head sadly. "No, I won't. Not after a while. But for a while, I will." He thinks to add some sort of joke, like "And when I do forget, you can divorce me because I won't know any better, and run off and marry some rich bloke."

But he knows to keep his mouth shut for once. His untold joke makes him think.

"Although… I don't want you to feel tied down to me. You should… you should get married to someone else and have kids anyway. Don't waste your life on me." He switches his gaze to her eyes, which are now looking at their hands.

"I wouldn't dream of that. You—I love you, Ron. How could I ever fall in love again?" she locks her brown eyes with his green. He begins to say something, but she puts a finger to his lips. "It's always been you." Her eyes well up once more. "Just you… not even another crush. Well, except Lockhart." She shakes her head at her own stupidity. "I can't… I can't think of anyone else I'd want to… to…"

She cannot finish her sentence. It aches.

He moves a little and tightens his grip on her hands. She feels his heartbeat quicken. His breathing hastens.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I—I'll never be able to… no second Burrow… no red-heads… no Chudley Cannons… no… no… no Mr. Weasley."

She knits her brows at the thought. She hadn't seen it that way.

And now that she sees that, she is certain.

"But there will be a Mrs. Weasley, and her Mr. Weasley will just be lost a bit. There can still be a second Burrow… or the first one, perhaps… you don't have to live here, you know. I'll take care of you."

The weight of these words nearly crushes Ron beneath them. "You—you would do that?"

She is angry. "Why wouldn't I? I love you. I'm not about to abandon you to St. Mungo's. Your family isn't either."

Her words are strong and determined and he knows better than to argue. He knows that even if he tells her no, she will come and take him from here anyway, when he cannot argue. She will hold his hand when he has his breakthroughs—that's what the nurses call them. They say that he will occasionally be able to recall who he was and who they were, but it won't last long and the breakthroughs will be fewer and farther between until they don't come anymore. They say they would stop after about a year.

But she will do what she says, he knows. She will hold his hand and talk to him about the good ol' days and tell him why he was wearing a ring.

And when the breakthroughs stop, she would still be there. She will still be his Mrs. Weasley.

"I know," he says.

They are both silent for a moment, thinking, considering.

"Could we… could we please?" Ron asks. "I know I shouldn't ask you for this… but—"

"Ask me for anything you want, Ron. I'll never say no." She inhales and lets it out slowly, silently. "I'll never say no."

"Then let's."

They kiss again and wonder how everyone will take the news.

* * *

It is semi-well received. There are questioning looks and Hermione and Ron know that the others are wondering why they would do this. It will be pointless, Ron can hear his siblings think. But his mother throws her arms around them and cries in happiness and sadness, and his father radiates with silent pride.

Ron knows his dad would have done the same thing.

"You don't abandon the people you love," he had told Ron once.

* * *

Harry is the best man and only the Weasleys and Grangers are in attendance. There is no time to waste on invitations and planning. Mrs. Granger has baked a cake, but it fell in the oven and Mrs. Weasley has fixed it.

They sit in the backyard of the Burrow, beneath the willow tree that Arthur planted when they first moved in. "Arthur + Molly" is carved into the trunk with a heart around it, as are the names of all their children. To the right of it, there is another that reads "Bill + Fleur". Now, to the left, there is third. "Ron + Hermione", it reads.

She is ethereal in a sparkling white dress that she got at six in the morning at Gladrags. She had banged on the door for twenty minutes before the owner of the shop appeared and wanted to know what all the pounding was about, they'd be open in two hours. Hermione had explained fervently and she had received a beautiful wedding dress at no price.

It is still early morning, and she had Ginny do her hair. It is in glorious curls that shine in the sunlight, half up and half down with daisies tucked in. She carries white roses that her mother bought on the way to The Leaky Cauldron, where Arthur had picked up her and her husband.

The Grangers do not question their daughter's logic. She has done nothing but speak of this boy and her friend Harry for seven years. She has given up summers and Christmas' at home be with him and his family, and she has faced the perils of many dangers to stand beside him. No, there were no questions, not even on behalf of his logic, because he has faced the same perils, and more, to stand beside her. And even when he forgets her, she won't mind trying to remind him.

Ron wears the dress robes that his twin brothers bought for him. His mother has bewitched them fit (his latest growth spurt has made them too small) and he has borrowed Bill's shoes. He smiles when he sees Hermione, and hopes that if he remembers anything, it will be this moment.

Ginny stands by Hermione, her maid of honor. The two rows of chairs consists of brothers, sisters, parents, and one delicate French girl. The priest had come from Hogsmeade the second Charlie had explained the situation, and now stands with tears in his eyes as he watches Hermione turn to face Ron.

The ceremony is quick and no faults are made, except when Ron and Hermione bump noses when they lean in to kiss. Nobody laughs.

They dance that night, even after the music has finished. Hermione wishes on every star she sees, and if Ron had known, he would have also known what she is wishing for.

* * *

The first thing to go is where he put his shoes.

He had searched for an hour before Percy discovered his plight and aided him. Ron is grateful and Percy gives him the first hug he has in years. They go down to breakfast together, and Ron takes his usual seat.

Hermione got up early to help Molly make breakfast. She wants to do that for Ron, at least once. She makes him pancakes, and sits beside him. Neither are hungry, but they eat anyway, and Ron thanks her.

Everyone is watching them. George does not eat at all, and the others only pick at their food. The bacon is cold.

Each day becomes harder, and Hermione clings tighter to Ron every night. He forgets that they have made love and he wonders what it would be like. Hermione gives him a first time every night, and she weeps after he falls into slumber.

He forgets to set his alarm clock and ponders the whereabouts of his robe. He asks Bill what time it is more often than he should and he asks Harry where they're going on the way to the living room.

They do not cry in front of him, because he asks why they are sad. He does not remember being cursed. He does not remember Malfoy. Sometimes he does not remember Hogwarts.

He thinks Harry is his brother and forgets that Percy is.

The twins confuse him. He asks Fred if he was split in two by a spell. George tries to explain, and Ron struggles to remember something about a teddy bear transfigured into a spider. He sits staring at them, examining their faces and realizing that they are identical freckle for freckle. Again, he asks Fred why this is. George does not answer. Ron forgets that one is Fred and one is George, and calls them both Fred, because that is a shorter name.

Ginny writes him a very long, detailed letter. She makes him read it every day, and sometimes it helps. He carries it in his pocket and refers to it often. There is also a picture in his back pocket, with everyone properly labeled so that he can put names with faces. He forgets he has it.

Molly weeps over her cooking and Arthur holds her close. He has no comforting words or thoughts, so they stand silent, holding each other while the kippers burn.

Fleur has the baby, and he is named Ron. He has red hair and bright blue eyes, and when Bill tells Ron his son's name, he remembers that that is his name too. Bill nods slowly, sadly, and his eyes fill.

Sometimes he stares at the wall and struggles. If he really thinks hard, he recalls his father's blue car and that Charlie likes dragons. He remembers where Ginny's room is and that Harry's last name is Potter, not Weasley.

But he does not forget Hermione. He looks at his ring and remembers a moment in which she wore a white dress, with daisies in her hair, and she smiled at him like he was her entire world. He knows that she holds him down when he falls out completely, and tries to get away because he thinks these people have imprisoned him. She soothes him and he remembers and he cries until he falls asleep.

She rocks him and hums a song he used to know.

He thinks maybe it was his favorite.

And one day she tells him that she is pregnant. She weeps when he does not understand why that is, and she is caught between wanting the baby and wishing she was not having one.

Never know daddy… no Mr. Weasley… Chudley Cannons… "Why does he not know my name?"

Molly and her mom go with her to the doctor and he says that if she does not take it easy, she will miscarry. She wonders if that would be so unbearable, and she realizes it would be.

Ron stands in the kitchen for hours, staring at the contents of the cabinets. He is furious that he cannot remember whether or not he likes Chocolate Frogs or if he pepper was supposed to be shaken over sandwiches. More importantly, did he like corned beef on his sandwiches, or has he made a bad mistake?

Arthur watches from the doorway, because when he tries to help, Ron gets angry and tells him he can do it alone. He only listens to Hermione. Arthur wants to help, but keeps his distance. He does not smile anymore.

Harry and Ginny get married and Ron is the best man, but he does not have the ring. Fred has it in his pocket, and when Ron needs to hand it to Harry, he gives it to Ron along with instructions. Ron shrugs and does what he's told.

He dances with Hermione at the reception and remembers the words to the song.

He asks her why she has gotten so big.

He has a breakthrough and tells her he's terribly sorry. He tries to keep his memory, but it evades him, and he explains to everyone that he feels trapped inside himself. His brain is confounded, some haze hovers above him, and he it is as hard as diamond. He apologizes to Fred and George and tells Molly he loves her.

He tells Hermione that he wishes he could be a daddy, good and proper, but he won't be able to. She cries. He holds her. He tells her he likes the names Molly, Moira, Cian, and… oh, what was it?

He fades again.

The months go by and there is no laughter in The Burrow. Fred and George have put Lee in charge of manning the joke shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, but George continues with the paperwork. Fred cannot think of any more gags and George has ran out of schemes. Molly weeps for them just as much as she weeps for Ron.

Ron is amazed by magic. He asks Hermione to transfigure things and when he realizes he used to be a wizard, he wonders what happened to his wand. He forgets quickly and requests Hermione make something appear out of thin air. She does. He laughs like a little boy.

When Moira Weasley is born, Harry and Ginny are decreed the godparents. Ron tells Hermione that Moira will be smart like her mommy, and she had better like the Chudley Cannons, but he cannot think why.

Moira Weasley has curly red hair and when her daddy holds her for the first time, he dimly understands that she belongs to him. She laughs for the first time in his arms and she likes to tug at his shirt. He remembers himself most often when he holds her, but he cannot remember anyone else.

Except at night, when he feels someone beside him in the dark, and he realizes that he is wearing a ring on his left hand.

And he recalls a beautiful girl with long, curly brown hair that smiles at him and knows everything. He recalls arguments, a fluffy yellow cat, a blue dress, stacks of books, and maybe waking up in the hospital wing, with her beside him.

And he remembers that he loves her.


End file.
